Night Watch
by Red River
Summary: The stars seemed too bright. It was the snow that made them look that way. One shot, Gan Ning x Ling Tong.


A/N: Just a one-shot done as a favor because I've been so long in updating one of my request stories. It was meant to go in an entirely different direction—timeline included—but this idea came to me at the beginning and I went with it. Ling Tong is a brat, but I can't imagine that ever changing. Anyway, a one-shot for the season.

Pairing: Gan Ning x Ling Tong

Warnings: None.

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**Night Watch**

The stars seemed too bright.

It was the snow that made them look that way, catching the light as it fell out of the sky like water dripping into a crumpled white sweatshirt, the similarity of shade sapping the rest of the landscape of its color even more than the dark already had. Gan Ning exhaled and the steam from his lips became a cloud, the stars shaking through the thin film of his breath and the breath of those around him as he pushed his way down the crowded sidewalk, eyes on the endless sky.

Everywhere else in the city, the stars were invisible. Especially this time of year. The Christmas trees made of office building lights and the streetlamps blazing from red to green and back to red were all he could see in the center of the city, trapped between buildings as high as heaven and the constant shoving of too many people with not enough time to get where they were going. When he'd left his office twenty minutes ago, there was a siren roaring down the street outside, and the sky might as well have been barren, the stars blacked out with smears of the exhaust and filth crawling down the gutters.

Not that he cared. The city had enough going on to keep Gan Ning interested; that was why they had moved in the first place, even though Ling Tong had whined about it for months. Well, he was still whining about it. But it had been long enough now that he might just have been doing it for the attention.

Either way, the stars were shining here. Gan Ning was still in the midst of the city, the great skyscrapers towering above him like the legs of some animal so tall its body disappeared into the depths of the sky. Maybe he'd been looking for that body as he ducked down a shortcut, and suddenly the stars flared in place, the snow draped across trash cans and fire escapes lighting up the eyes of heaven in a way he hadn't seen in months.

Gan Ning pressed his scarf across his lower face and breathed out into the heavy cloth, the mist filling his eyes as his footsteps got lost in the footsteps of the others. Every alley in the city was clogged tonight, almost everyone scuttling through the darkness with their shoulders hunched and their arms full of precarious stacks of packages. Gan Ning only had the one, tucked under his arm, and it swung carelessly as he moved from side to side, avoiding collisions when he could. He smiled a little to himself. Ling Tong would hate to be out tonight—he hated the city's crowds now, ever since he'd had his pocket picked the first time.

_Why did you bring me to this awful place?_ Ling Tong had shouted when they returned home, his coat whipping uselessly at Gan Ning's back. _It's not even safe! What if I'd been knifed? What if I'd been kidnapped?_

Gan Ning had informed his partner that he was too old to be kidnapped and ducked the ensuing swing, and he hadn't said much after that, letting the storm blow out from his position in front of the television. Ling Tong was touchy like that; it was nearly impossible to guess where his mood would take him next. But most of his moods calmed without serious trouble, and the few that didn't Gan Ning could see brooding on the horizon for days beforehand—which was enough time to duck and cover, at any rate.

Gan Ning dodged a park car and stepped back into the center of the alleyway, his free hand seeking his pocket for warmth. Ling Tong was wrong, after all. There wasn't anything wrong with the city. It was just the young artist himself who had a problem. And his problem was that he was too naïve about things like that. All the artists Gan Ning had ever met were like that, and his partner was no exception.

There was a childish quality to his character that never seemed to go away. Not a happy, playful childishness—even after four years, Gan Ning was still occasionally amazed at Ling Tong's propensity for whining. He just took things at face value too often. He didn't have the right head for this kind of city.

Gan Ning emerged out of the mouth of the alley, but he stepped back immediately to avoid a procession of gaudy elves, bells slung around their necks and white charity buckets clutched to their emerald chests. He shook his head. That was the kind of hazard Ling Tong just didn't know to watch out for. Not that a pack of do-gooder elves were really that much of a threat, anyhow. But the city did need constant vigilance, and Ling Tong spent too much time in his own head to really provide that.

It was the life of an artist, probably.

Gan Ning skirted the edge of the pedestrian crowd and stuck to the walls of the gaudy stores, idle eyes tracing the toys and decorations spilling from their doors. Things sure got ridiculous this time of year. Ling Tong had stamped his feet and complained about the bustle and the noise and the obnoxious carols, but Gan Ning had caught him staring up at the Christmas tree outside the Met and he had a feeling his partner was whining more to be heard than to do the holiday any real damage.

Which had been the reason for his errand. Well, part of the reason. The bulk of the reason had been that Ling Tong was having one of his fits around dinnertime, and he had thrown Gan Ning out of the apartment in the name of artistic genius and ordered him not to come back until he was called. That seemed a little excessive, so Gan Ning had given him two hours to calm down and was ready to call it good enough.

Not that his time had been wasted. He'd fed himself, and gone back to the office to finish some things up, and then taken an easy stroll through the heart of the city, watching the people more than the lights and breathing in snatches of song with the cold, thin air, kicking the light snow from his boots so that little white patches sketched his path onto the city's floor until the steps of another swept them away.

And there was the package, of course. But that spoke for itself.

A homeless man was crouched outside the stairwell of their apartment building, and he held up his hat at Gan Ning passed, but the only thing Gan Ning had in his hand was the apartment key and he left the hat empty. He took the stairs to the lobby and crossed the lobby to the elevators, cursing the building's unusual layout with his daily, uninterested curse as the box began to move. Gan Ning leaned back against the wall and his exhale disappeared without steam, the buttons lighting one by one above the door.

Ling Tong was like a little kid. In his stronger moments, it made Gan Ning want to cover his ears, but in his weaker moments he could admit to himself that it was probably exactly what he needed. Something fresh. Something different from the office rabble and the people on the street that he passed by every day without interest. There was always movement where Ling Tong was involved—even if that movement was the duck and cover he'd gotten so good at.

The elevator jerked and then dragged its doors open, the gray corridor and the gray light of dim lamps filling the space where dull metal had been. Gan Ning pressed his shoulder into the wall and pushed off, his feet following the familiar carpet to a door that looked as anonymous as the others to any eyes but his.

Gan Ning leaned against the jamb and tapped three knocks into the heavy wood, listening for the footsteps that were slow but steady in coming. There was silence for a moment, long enough that Gan Ning knew he was being watched through the spy hole, and then the door was wrenched open and Ling Tong's face filled the gap, his eyes narrowed to serpentine slits.

Gan Ning smiled and crooked his thumb up in a light wave. Ling Tong did not return the gesture.

"What are you doing here?" the young man spat, his tone riddled with ice. But Gan Ning had gotten used to the frost over time, and he only straightened, standing up fully so he could look down at his irate partner.

"I live here," Gan Ning replied, a shrug rolling through his shoulders. Ling Tong huffed.

"I told you not to come back until—"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard ya." Gan Ning reached up and pushed the door open, and in a moment he was inside, bypassing Ling Tong's bristling form and dropping a kiss onto the wrinkled forehead as though he couldn't see the skin practically sizzling. "It's gettin' cold out there, all right? And I've got work in the morning."

The sound of the slamming door followed him down the corridor into the living room, and Ling Tong was close behind, his shoulders bunched up to his ears as his voice rose higher and louder with every word.

"You never listen to anything I say, Gan Ning! You have no respect for me or for what I do. This is all just a game to you, isn't it? Well, it's not funny! I told you I had to work, and I do, and you're going to walk back out that door right now and you can sleep in an alley for all I—"

"Here."

The rant stopped abruptly as Gan Ning tossed the package he'd been carrying at his displeased partner, and Ling Tong's eyes widened, his fingers scrabbling against the wrapping paper so as not to drop his sudden burden. Gan Ning winked and finished pulling off his shoes.

"Christmas came early this year."

Ling Tong eyed him with suspicion, one hand perched on his slender hip. "If you think this is going to make up for getting in my way tonight…"

But he left the threat unfinished, and Gan Ning could see that the package was nestled close against his side, withstanding the brunt of his anger better than some gifts in the past. Gan Ning smirked, moving to the window and staring across the city with amusement in his eyes.

"Just open it already, will ya? So snappy."

One of the couch pillows bounced off the glass at his side, and Gan Ning raised an eyebrow at the miss. Then he watched the reflection as his partner carried his box to the kitchen counter with an air of decided surliness hanging around his steps.

Ling Tong fussed with the ribbons for a moment and finally reached for the scissors, and the gold foil fell down to curl at his feet, yielding the paper to his impatient fingers. There was the sound of scratching cardboard and tearing tape, and then the reflection went still, Ling Tong's back motionless as the city lights his image stood between.

Gan Ning's reflection told him he was smiling, and he watched the self-satisfied expression for a matter of seconds before turning back into the room, his casual steps making their way toward the counter. When he was close enough Gan Ning reached around and trapped Ling Tong in his arms, hands locking together under their joined shadow as his chin settled onto his partner's shoulder.

"So? Did I finally shut you up?"

Ling Tong was still, but he seemed to be shaking a little bit, and one hand came up to touch his face, its motion telling Gan Ning that there were tears to be wiped away. He trapped Ling Tong's damp fingers between his own and his second hand brushed beneath the young man's eyes. Ling Tong shook his head but he didn't pull away, his voice steadier than his hands where they held the oblong box.

"You shut up, Gan Ning. I told you I didn't want a tree."

Gan Ning swallowed his smile. He held Ling Tong against the counter so that his hands were free to pick the soft, tiny evergreen out of its container and set it upright on the table, all the glass ornaments the size of his thumbnail tinkling against each other like muted bells. Gan Ning shrugged again, and he watched the movement flow into Ling Tong's shoulders, placing his partner's hands around the base of the tree again.

"Yeah," Gan Ning said, "you told me that. Your eyes told me somethin' else."

Ling Tong was still shaking his head, but his fingers were moving down the branches now, a flurry of loose needles cascading onto the counter. "It'll be a mess," he said, his voice barely clearing a whisper. "And someone will have to water it every day, and I know _you're_ not going to do that. I don't have time to look after a tree. And what if it dies before Christmas? It's only the seventeenth…"

Gan Ning chuckled, pressing his face against the side of Ling Tong's head. "It won't be much of a mess. I'll water it if you remind me. And if it dies, we'll get another one. Would ya quit whining and enjoy it already? It's all over your face anyway."

He couldn't see Ling Tong's face. But he could feel the expression there, even as his partner leaned forward and buried his countenance in the soft fir needles. Ling Tong sighed, the motion rattling the ornaments and sending a glitter of reflected light across his dark hair.

"Christmas has always been about family. I'm just so far away from everyone this year."

Gan Ning pushed the bangs back from brown eyes he couldn't see, his breath chasing stray strands of Ling Tong's hair across the crown of his head.

"I'm right here."

Ling Tong didn't answer, but his body softened against Gan Ning's and he leaned back, letting the taller man support his weight and steady arms circle his waist again. They stood like that until the bells went up in the square not far away, and then Gan Ning pulled back, ruffling Ling Tong's ponytail with a carefree hand.

"Come on. Dry up, would ya? I didn't move halfway across the country to be with a crybaby."

Ling Tong's eyes were still red as he whirled to face Gan Ning, but it was insult and not sorrow darkening his cheeks now, and he seized a magazine from the counter and swung at his partner, just missing the smirk that had fallen over his confident face. Gan Ning ducked right and then ran, rounding the couch and turning so that the pale furniture stayed between himself and the young man who was yelling once again.

"I am not a crybaby, Gan Ning! You are so insensitive! How could you say something like that right now? When I catch you—"

Gan Ning dodged another pillow, and as he straightened his gaze caught on the jumble of city lights in the night outside his window, like a horizontal sky with the twinkling red and green and yellow in place of the colorless stars. The city sparkled and the tree on their counter sparkled, and high above them, invisible from this vantage, the heavens were sparkling, too, one more reflection of the light that was everywhere—everywhere—in the darkness below.


End file.
